


Lethe

by Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Les Mis fantasy week, M/M, Naiad!Enjolras, Please don't mind me blatantly bastardizing greek mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox/pseuds/Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was drunk. He knew he was drunk. In fact, most of the time he was drunk, but this time…This time was different.</p><p>He was at the stream behind the Barnes and Nobles. He wasn’t quite sure why he was at the stream behind the Barnes and Nobles at one in the morning, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with Bahorel. It always had to do with Bahorel.</p><p>Aka, Enjolras is a naiad, and Grantaire apparently has amnesia problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lethe

He was drunk. He knew he was drunk. In fact, most of the time he was drunk, but this time…This time was different.

He was at the stream behind the Barnes and Nobles. He wasn’t quite sure why he was at the stream behind the Barnes and Nobles at one in the morning, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with Bahorel. It always had to do with Bahorel.

He was just about to turn around and go back home, when—

"Mortal, what is it that brings you to my river?" 

Oh, he was drunk. Very, very drunk. He had to be; how else was there a man in the stream without freezing to death? It was fucking October and they weren’t in the South…Even if he did have the facial structure of an angel with a complexion to die for. 

"Not an angel, no." The not-angel frowned, with eyes cold and terrible, and  the human winced, because he hadn’t meant to speak. Or perhaps he didn’t speak at all, and this was simply his own hallucination interpreting his thoughts. "No, you’re talking," The hallucination—"and I’m not a hallucination, either,"—drawled.  

Well, the talking when he didn’t think he was talking didn’t surprise him; ‘Ponine used to tease him about it all the time. “If you’re not an angel or a hallucination, what are you.” His voice was gruff and he was surprised his words didn’t slur together.

"I am Enjolras," he looked at him, expectant. 

"Gesundheit. I’m Grantaire, so?" 

He grumbled about something involving “Combeferre” and how mortals were idiots. “My name is Enjolras, I didn’t sneeze, and this is my river.” 

"Uhuh. Yeah. Kind of a pathetic river," he glanced at the growing fury in Enjolras’s eyes. "I mean. No offense, but. This isn’t exactly prime real estate, buddy."

"This is one of the mighty tributaries of the great—" he paused, gesturing wildly,"—red river, I’ll have you know. It’s waters once rushed from here to the Atlantic Ocean!" He huffed. 

"…It’s a creek behind a bookstore."

"No, it’s not!" He dove underneath the water, flaxen hair glinting in the pale moonlight. 

And he didn’t come up. And didn’t come up, to the point of R wondering whether or not he should go and drag him out of the water. Bubbles were still floating up, though, so he seemed alright…?

 

His golden head emerged after that worrying minute, thankfully, defiantly glaring. “I have decided to overlook your   disarmingly rude comment on the pretense that my river being part of a mere ‘creek behind a bookstore’ will further my intentions of helping people of all sorts whom are less fortunate than I.” 

Well. He was a haughty, pompous dick then, wasn’t he? But a well educated pompous dick who was kind of like a god reincarnate—wait a second. “You were underwater for five minutes. How the hell are you not dead?”

Enjolras sent him a look. “I am a Naiad.”

Silence.

"Water spirit? Lives in rivers? The water equivalent of a dryad?"

"…I knew I was dreaming."

"For the last time, I am not a hallucination!"

"I didn’t say you were a hallucination. I said you were a dream."

Enjolras glared. “Shouldn’t you be resting? Combeferre tells me most humans sleep at this hour. You, it appears, have ingested multiple mind-altering substances and obviously have no use for being anywhere; let alone visiting my river and attempting to help my cause.”

"Wait, wait, wait," he frowned, massive headache raging as he tried to untangle the meaning from his massive spew of quick words. "What cause?"

"Nothing. Nevermind. Just go to your resting place, mortal." 

He checked his watch. “Fuck. Yeah, sorry, no can do. Last bus left a half an hour ago.” He groaned. 

Enjolras sighed. “I suppose I’ll consent to you staying here, then. Just so that you won’t drunkenly stumble somewhere to your death.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m tipsy and—” he yawned. “—tired,  _your majesty_ _._  That doesn’t mean I’m going to die.”

Enjolras gasped like Grantaire had insulted his mother. “I am a Republican, not a monarchist—”

"Really? I’d have guessed you’re a democrat."

"—and I would really prefer you didn’t call me a king."

"—thinking about it, actually, I’m kind of sure you’re more of a Radical Independent—"

"—Well, I suppose I believe also in democracy but that is the same as believing in a Republic—"

"—You do realize this is America, right? There already is a Republic."

Enjolras just stared at him. “I’m literally a  _river_. How am I supposed to know?”

“A river in  _America.”_

“You know, you’re extraordinarily eloquent for a drunkard.” He tried to change the subject.

“And Naiads are supposed to be female.”

“So you have heard of us!” He grinned, triumphant, and for a moment Grantaire was sure the world had stopped spinning. His fingers itched, and he thought longingly for a moment of the pastels and colored pencils in a forgotten box under his bed at home.  “You know, humans are so ignorant these days, they forget all about us non-humans. So what if I didn’t really pay attention to humanity for a few hundred years—-”

“You just forgot about humans for a few  _hundred_  years?” His jaw dropped. “Who does that?”

“Mythical creatures after the fall of Rome, that’s who! Now, as I was saying.” He sighed. “I mean, really. Just a few centuries and then suddenly everyone forgets about all of us! No non-human support groups or monster rights activists at all! and I know I don’t know anything about the political system during this day and age but you’d think things would be a little bit better!” He huffed, but then he turned back to Grantaire. “So, America’s a Republic now! You have to tell me everything about it!”

And. Well. How could he say no to him looking at him like he was everything he needed? Even if he was a dick when they first met. “Yeah, okay, sure.” And so he told him all about America and its political system, even the flawed bits, (okay, especially the flawed bits, because nothing we perfect let alone America,) and Enjolras listened to every word he said, soaking it up like a sponge. Suddenly Grantaire was hit with a strange sort of paranoia: that this might be the last time Enjolras would listen to him like this. That this might be the last time Enjolras would ever listen to him.

He spoke until his yawns turned into snores, and he was left lying on the cold riverbank, fast asleep. Enjolras smiled gently down upon him, and woke him before the sun rose. “Come and see me again soon?”

“Hm? Alright.” He mumbled, falling back asleep.

~~

He awoke the next morning, hungover in the woods behind the Barnes and Noble with only the barest memory of the night before. He moaned at the light from above him, vaguely groping at his pockets for his phone. “Jehan?” He grumbled after dialing, rubbing his temples in distaste. “You wouldn’t believe the crazy dream I just had…Or where I am, actually…”

 

And the water nymph held his breath as he watched the mortal forget. Always forget, every morning after he woke up…Because what were naiads if not fairytales?

_He was at the stream behind the Barnes and Nobles. He wasn’t sure why he was at the stream behind the Barnes and Nobles, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with Bahorel…_


End file.
